Through Dark Glass
by pinfeather
Summary: What mortals see - or don't see - through the Mist. A series of one-shots.
1. Chapter 1: GardenVariety Monster

"Hello, Mr. Murchison!" Eloise burbled, stopping in front of her short, bearded neighbor. "How are you today?"

As usual, he just stared at her, too stoic to reply.

Across the street, a little boy peeked over his front fence and said to his mother, "Momma, the crazy old lady's talking to garden gnomes again."

"Hush," said his mother, sharply, and hurried him back towards their house.

Eloise hadn't heard. She bent lovingly over her flowerbed, stroking a petal here and there. "Hello, pretty flowers! How are you today!"

They swayed gently on their long stems, as if dancing playfully away from her. One of the bushes actually began to shake vigorously, almost painfully.

Puzzled, the elderly woman stood up and leaned towards it. "What—"

There was a goat in her flowerbed, chewing on her flowers! She scowled.

"Now, that's not nice!"

She picked up a long-handled broom and began to shoo the goat away. "I hate to be rude, but you simply _must _leave my pretty flowers alone!"

It looked up at her balefully.

Feeling inexplicably afraid, she began to back away. "Now—nice goat—you get out of my garden!"

It drew itself up, swelling, and roared. The force of the noise knocked her over backward onto the grass.

She gazed up, wide-eyed, at the huge . . . thing . . . rearing up above her. It now looked like a lion . . . or a snake . . . or was it a lion _and _a snake?

Across the street, the neighbors' little boy peeked over the fence again.

"Momma, the crazy old lady's getting attacked by a giant hamster!"

"You get inside and stop peeking in people's yards, Bobby!"

Eloise was practically sure that this was the end. No more flowers, no more quiet little Mr. Murchison.

She heard quick footsteps. Black sneakers darted past her. Out of nowhere, a little boy, all in black, was standing before her like a shield. He was holding a shining, black . . . spade? He pointed the spade at the Monster Goat.

He shouted something in a strange language, stabbing at the ground with the spade. The earth swelled and cracked open into a ravine.

"Oh, my," said Eloise.

The boy turned around quickly. "Stay down!"

"Oh, dear. That's—that's a very good idea, dear . . ."

The Monster Goat backed away from the growing ravine. A potted plant tipped over and spilled as the ground fell away beneath it. The neighbors' white picket fence snapped with the shifting earth and their pretty oak tree went over on one side, roots stabbing at the air.

What was left of the fence splintered under the Monster Goat's weight as it backed up. The creature let out a final, enraged roar—or hiss—and turned and rushed down the street.

The edges of the ravine came back together with a _rumble_. Eloise's garden and yard were a mess.

The little boy in black helped Eloise up off the ground, gasping a little at her weight.

She immediately wandered over to where Mr. Murchison lay on his side, watching the sky with painted ceramic eyes. Clicking her tongue, she dusted him off and stood him upright.

"Poor Mr. Murchison! That wasn't much fun, was it!"

Eloise turned around to face the little boy. "That was very nice of you, dear. Would you like some cookies? I can make some, right now, in fact!"

He was already gone.

Surprised, she peered around, as if he would once again pop up out of nowhere.

Then she shrugged, and bent over the flowers. Broken-stemmed or crushed or partially eaten, they beamed up at her as brightly as they could.

On the road, a police car shrieked by.

Eloise didn't notice. "Pretty flowers . . . I'll get you some water! Yes, that will be nice! You'll like that!"

Across the road, the neighbors' little boy peeked over his fence at her yard. He was shaking.

"Momma, the killer hamster's gone."

"Didn't I just tell you to get inside!"

Ignoring their distant voices, Eloise went to fetch the watering can.

**Thank you. This has been Nico di Angelo versus the Chimera, as seen through the eyes of Eloise Weinberger, 53, and Bobby deMarco, "the neighbors' little boy," 6.**


	2. Chapter 2: Ponies on the Escalator

**The Chimera was slain by the hero Bellerophon, riding on the winged horse Pegasus. Bellerophon's heroic career ended when he decided to fly to Olympus. The gods, angered by Bellerophon's arrogance, sent a gadfly called Brize to sting Pegasus as he rose through the clouds. Once stung, Pegasus bucked wildly about and Bellerophon was flung to his death.**

**However, you don't hear much about Brize nowadays.**

Absolutely disgusted, Gary flung open his door and stomped out to the hotel lobby, still in his pajamas.

Light and music were _still _coming from the conference hall downstairs. Someone let out a wild whoop. Glass shattered. A man on horseback galloped up the down escalator—was that even _possible_?—under a hail of water balloons.

Gary turned and ran back to his room, slamming the door after him. He flung himself down on the double bed and pulled all four pillows and the sheets over his head.

The music was muffled, but he could still hear the low, throbbing beat. It seemed to shake the whole building.

Gary moaned, noting to himself that he had the beginnings of a classic headache.

A fly buzzed overhead, aiming for the lamp. It seemed to be buzzing strangely loudly. Gary peeked out from beneath the pillows and watched as the bug landed on the lightbulb. A little black speck, it crept around, seeming to enjoy itself. It slowly began to glow red at the edges.

Weird.

Past the buzzing of the fly and the throbbing of the drums, not to mention the pile of blankets and pillows, he barely heard someone pounding on the door.

He hoped that it was the police or something, here to arrest the noisy people downstairs. Maybe they wanted evidence or something . . .

He got up and trudged to the door.

Through the peephole, he could see only the very top of a blond head.

These were some pretty short policemen, if that was what they were.

He opened the door and came face to face with two teenaged girls.

"We're looking for a gadfly," the first one said quickly. She was blond and tan, eyes a strange, clear gray color. Under her denim jacket she wore an orange T-shirt—only part of the logo visible. - - MP HALFBL- - -. Her arms she held behind her back.

"A fly?" Gary repeated.

"A gadfl—" She shook her head. "Yes. Sure. A fly. Is there a fly in your room?"

"Annabeth," said the girl behind her, nervously. She was wearing the same kind of orange T-shirt. Her brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail, a sprig of leaves tucked behind her ear. She held a large silver thermos in both hands.

"AnnaBETH!"

The first girl—Annabeth?—looked past Gary into the room, and her mouth stretched into a thin line. Without warning, she lunged past him.

"Hey!" Gary yelled.

The bedsprings creaked and the lamp went over with a crash.

"Catch it! Catch it!" The other girl unscrewed the thermos and, waving it about like a club, went running after her companion.

"What the—_you kids get out of here_!" Gary scrambled after them.

The fly buzzed above the chaos, seeming almost tranquil. It disappeared behind the curtains.

The two girls each grabbed a handful of the curtains and yanked. The curtain rod went flying overhead.

Gary stared out over the girls' heads, across the road, at the hotel opposite. The curtains there were closed, the rooms dark. It seemed so peaceful . . .

The flying curtains descended upon him, enclosing him in stuffy darkness.

"HEY!"

"KATIE! THE THERMOS!"

"I can't—"

BANG!

"Ow!"

The fly buzzed.

Gary struggled out of the curtains in time to see the brunette girl clap her hands around the fly as it shot above her head. Immediately she screamed. Her hands began to smoke and then to bleed. The fly freed itself and moved on, placid as ever.

The blond girl struck out wildly with a flyswatter, almost striking her companion, and almost decapitating Gary on the return swing.

Gary turned and ran out the door. Halfway through the lobby, he slammed facefirst into the side of a horse and went sprawling. He got up again, tottered through a hail of confetti, and scampered behind the concierge's empty desk. He grabbed the phone and began to dial 9-1-1.

The two girls came walking through the lobby. Their hair was disheveled and the blond girl's jacket was torn, but they both seemed perfectly calm. The brunette girl was eating little golden crackers of some kind, and her hands had stopped bleeding. Under her arm was tucked the silver thermos, which seemed to be buzzing softly.

"Sorry about that," said the Annabeth girl, stopping at the concierge's desk and smiling up at Gary. She handed him a pile of bills. "Move into the hotel across the street. It looks much more peaceful over there."

The other girl, Katie, watched as a piano was successfully heaved down the escalator.

Annabeth winced. "Um . . . right. Let's go."

"Hey!" someone bellowed from downstairs. "You little dudes want to stay a while longer? We found another package of root beer!"

"YEAHHH!" roared about a dozen other partiers.

"No, thanks." Katie made a face and nodded at Annabeth.

Gary watched as the two girls strode out the door and into the night. It may have been a trick of the light, but they seemed to vanish as soon as their feet left the curb.

On that thought, Gary bolted from the room and emerged, moments later, bearing his suitcase.

Still in his pajamas, he bolted for the door. Across the street, the lights of the other hotel beckoned.

**This has been Annabeth Chase and Katie Gardner versus Brize the gadfly, as seen through the eyes of Gary Floyd, 39. Also the Party Ponies convention.**

**I'd appreciate any suggestions for the next chapter.**


	3. Chapter 3: Riddle Me This

The only reason Adison saw it was because she was on the ground, looking for her earring.

Sand, rolling up out of the grate grain by grain, drifting across the sidewalk.

"Adison! Get in the car! The meeting's in _five minutes_." Her mother tapped her foot impatiently.

"My earring's down the grate."

"I'll get you another one. _Adison _. . . don't make me miss this conference."

In the street, horns blared. People hurried past, without stopping to notice the girl crawling around the sewer grate.

"Just another minute, Mom."

"Get. In. The. Car."

Adison was busy watching the sand waft into the air, swirling and glinting in the sun.

"Mom? Mom, look at this."

"We've wasted enough time already, Adison—!"

The sand churned in the air and Adison closed her eyes tightly. Her mother wasn't so lucky.

"_Aghhh_! Oh, just perfect. My mascara . . . my eyeliner . . . Adison, if you hadn't made us _late _this wouldn't have _happened_—who kicked that sand in my face? HEY! WHO KICKED THAT SAND IN MY FACE?"

Adison opened her eyes gingerly and saw a woman crouching on the sidewalk in front of her, wearing a thick fur coat. A _fur coat_ in _July_.

"I LIVE!" the woman roared, rising to her feet and raising her arms in victory. She whipped around so quickly that her long, swinging hair struck Adison in the face. "You! Quickly! What's black, white, and red all over?"

"Uh . . ."

"Look here, young lady—was that you kicking sand in my face?" demanded Adison's mother. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself! I'm a lawyer, I'll have you know—and why are you wearing a _fur coat _at _this _time of year?"

"A . . . newspaper?" Adison asked cautiously.

"WRONG!" the fur coat woman shouted gleefully. "The answer is _an embarrassed zebra_!"

"Can we go now, Mom?"

"Oh, that's funny," said her mother, placing her hands on her hips. "A moment ago all you wanted to do was look for your earring."

"It went down a grate, Mom."

The fur coat woman's eyes suddenly grew wide and, without so much as a _by your leave_, she turned and galloped off down the sidewalk. She knocked down a hot dog cart along the way, bounding high into the air with great flaps of her coat. She really ran surprisingly quickly.

"YOU GET BACK HERE, I'M NOT FINISHED WITH—" Adison's mother cut off with a groan, checking her watch. "Oh, I'm late. I hope you're happy, Adison."

Just as she was reaching for the handle of the car door, two scruffy-looking boys ran past. One of them stopped at the car, sweat stains marking his bright orange T-shirt, and shouldered past Adison's mother into the driver's seat.

"HEY!" she cried. "Adison, stop him! STOP, THIEF!"

"These are awesome hot dogs!" cried the other boy—virtually the first boy's twin—from down the road.

The first boy slammed the door. Taxi horns blared. He began doing something to the steering wheel. The car shuddered and jerked, and then roared to life.

"_I'm calling the police_!" Adison's mother roared.

The other boy came running back, mustard in his hair and hot dogs spilling out of his arms. "Whoa! Awesome!" He opened the door and dove into the passenger's seat.

"HELLO, 9-1-1?" Still holding the phone to her ear, Adison's mother began kicking the car and yanking on the door handle with all her strength. Adison just stood there with her jaw dropping, too shocked to move.

The car took off down the street so quickly that it left an afterimage. It raced after the woman in the fur coat. Adison's mother, who had had her hand on the car, pitched forward. Adison darted forward and caught her before she could land in the oil puddle.

"Oh," said her mother, gasping. "Thank you."

The people on the sidewalk ignored the whole thing and kept walking.

Adison's mother, of course, missed her meeting. And Adison was late for her violin lesson that afternoon.

The next day, police found the stolen car parked on a roof on the other side of the city, with its hood covered in claw-marks. They also found Adison's missing earring in the glove compartment, beside a stale hot dog bun.

The mysterious ketchup-y fingerprints on the rear view mirror could not be traced to any known juvenile delinquents.

**Thank you. This has been Travis and Connor Stoll versus the Sphinx, as seen through the eyes of Adison Yu, 16, and her mother Lena, 42. **


	4. Chapter 4: Patients in Adversity

**This one is in response to a request from Defying-Gravity-4ever. I believe the request called for "Percy and Annabeth fighting...the Minotaur-in his Fruit of the Loom underwear!-with Clarisse and Thalia in all their god-of-war's-daughter and  
Hunter-of-Artemis glory!"**

**Percy, Annabeth, and Thalia did not make it into the chapter, but the Minotaur and Clarisse did. And we will get to see why Clarisse is not going to be escorting any more new demigods to Camp Halfblood anytime soon…**

It was called a waiting room because it was made for waiting. And so he waited, as the sharp, piercing scent of demigod grew clearer and clearer.

The colors and shapes around him were muddy, muted. He breathed in and out, seeing the world through smells and sounds.

Through the receptionist's window, the click and tap of people at work on computers. Wilting carnations in a vase. The whoosh of tap water, and people in plastic gloves saying, "Rinse, please."

A high giggle. A whiff of Play-Doh and peanut butter. "Mommy! That man has a cow for a head!"

Nervous, quick breaths. "Why don't you come sit with Mommy over by the magazine rack, Claire, sweetie?"

Through the receptionist's window:

"Oh, come on, there's no need to call the police . . ."

"He's out there in his _underwear_."

"Well, I—oh, wow. You're right."

"You _think_? Big football-player-looking dude, wearing nothing but a pair of Fruit-of-the-Looms and a shag rug on his head—I'm calling the police."

Everything else paled beneath the heady, intoxicating smell of halfbloods. Two of them. Young.

The door swung open in a tinkle of bells. A small halfblood—male—twelve years old at most—smelling of sweat and blood and granola bars—stood in the doorway, pulling off his gloves to blow on his fingers. He was shivering and the guitar on his back shook too.

The Minotaur was finished waiting.

He drew himself up, looming above the boy. The boy half-turned, enough to see him out of his peripheral vision.

The Minotaur charged. People screamed. Someone jumped up on top of a chair.

At the last second, someone reached out (big, meaty, pink hands, smelling of dirt and old chipped nail polish) and yanked the boy out of the way. It was another demigod.

The Minotaur slammed facefirst into the wall. The pictures on the walls shuddered in their frames. In the receptionist's office, the vase of carnations tipped over. A waterfall began to flow over and off the counter, bearing with it a tiny fleet of petals.

The boy's rescuer, the other demigod, laughed loudly. "That was stupid! You're stupid."

The little boy said something that would probably be spelled "AaaAAAaaa!"

"Go back outside, Jell-O."

"M-me llamo Arcangelo," said the boy, shaking all over, holding his guitar in front of his chest like a shield, "pero—"

"OUTSIDE! This is MY fight!"

"Pero—"

The Minotaur pulled his head out of the wall and shook the plaster out of his bleary eyes.

_Paw the ground. Snort. Charge._

_Watch the halfbloods disappear beneath you—those annoying gnats, they dart out sideways, away from your horns._

The receptionist was under the desk, screaming into the phone.

"Hey! Over here, Minotaur! Come and get me!" the girl yelled.

The little boy dashed past, heading for the door. The Minotaur grabbed the guitar strapped to the child's back and yanked him away from the door.

"Ahhh! Nononononono!"

"Arghh!" said the girl. She began throwing things—a picture. A bowl of petunias. A shoe from the person hiding underneath a chair next to her. Then the chair under which the person had been hiding.

The Minotaur bellowed in annoyance, but let the objects glance off him harmlessly.

The little boy dangled in the air for a minute, then slipped out of the strap holding him to the guitar. He landed with a _thud _and crawled away.

The girl looked around wildly before grabbing a magazine off the end table. On the cover was a picture of a woman dressed in a flurry of red skirts. The girl flapped it almost under his nose.

Red. He could see that. His nostrils flared. Red. He dropped the guitar.

"_Aaaa_!" screamed the patients, huddled under chairs.

"_Aaaa_!" screamed the receptionist into the phone.

"_Aaaa_!" screamed the boy with the guitar.

"Come and get it, loser!" bawled the girl with the magazine.

The Minotaur roared and charged towards her. The girl ducked under his feet, tripping him with a chair (which was swiftly destroyed).

He fell heavily and got back up. Then the little boy's guitar descended upon the Minotaur's head, right between the horns, with a twang and a crash. It fell in a shower of splinters and wires.

A white splotch – the boy demigod's face – stared up at him with a trembling mouth.

Then something long and sharp dug into the Minotaur's side.

—_zzakzt_—

"_Take that, jerkface_," hissed the girl, behind him.

He stood motionless for a moment, then slowly teetered forward. The carpet waited beneath him and then rushed up to meet him with a _thud_.

The last thing he heard was applause—and—

"It's okay! She tasered him!"

"She had a taser?"

"Very resourceful of you, young lady."

"You can come out from under the chair now, Mommy!"

And—

"Mi guitarra . . ."

"Time to go. And next time, Jell-O, stay out of my fight."

"Me llamo _Arcangelo_!"

"What? Speak English!"

And then the Minotaur could no longer hear their voices, because his ears were dissolving in a cloud of sand. He smelled sand and felt his once-powerful arms dissolving into sand. All was sand . . .

. . . sand . . .

. . .

**Thank you. This has been Clarisse LaRue, daughter of Ares, and Arcangelo Defreitas, son of Apollo, versus the Minotaur, witnessed by the occupants of the Cheerful Children's Clinic waiting room. For a change of pace, this chapter has been seen through the eyes of the Minotaur instead of a mortal.**

**And once again I ask for any suggestions you may have for the next chapter.**


	5. Chapter 5: School of Light

Afterwards, Lacey made it very clear to the police and the dean of discipline that she had _not _been the one to blow up the dorm.

She wasn't sure who _had _blown up the dorm, or why—the décor was kind of ugly, in pink and garish yellow, but not bad enough to drive anyone explosively insane. Not like that story she'd been reading in English Literature, _The Yellow Paint _or something like that, all about the crazy lady with the bars on the windows . . .

But everything, leading up to the explosion, had begun with Rachel. She was sure of that.

Rachel was nice enough. She talked quickly and tended to interrupt you, but Lacey was good at interrupting too, so they weren't too miserable as roommates. Rachel liked art and her father, who was super-rich, sent her all these awesome presents, like the latest iPhone, and sometimes Rachel let Lacey share.

The trouble started when Lacey started trying to set Rachel up with a nice boy.

You see, Clarion Academy was an all-girls' school. It was easy enough for Lacey and a few of her friends to get out once in a while, and hang out with boys. And she extended an invitation to Rachel. She had a few male friends she was _dying _to arrange with Rachel. Any one of them could be such a nice match.

And Rachel was reasonably pretty, with curly red hair and snapping green eyes and a confident way of moving. Although she had _zero _fashion sense, dressing in old sweatpants or (if she was in an artsy mood) a toga and laurel wreath.

Lacey smelled the first hint of trouble when three visitors came to the door. A boy and two girls, decked out in winter gear and golden from head to toe with dripping, oozing honey. Their feet left golden sticky spots on the carpet.

Lacey never caught their names, but Rachel seemed to know them, and quickly ushered them into an empty room. And locked the door.

About five minutes later, bright green smoke began to curl up from under the door. Three seconds after that, the fire alarm went off and the sprinklers came on, totally drenching Lacey's favorite outfit.

It was an omen.

Rachel might be friendly, but when you got too close, she was oddly distant. She was always preoccupied with some kind of summer camp she attended. Her friends showed up at odd times, walking through the door in the middle of the night, or climbing through the vent system just as Lacey was fixing breakfast.

And so Rachel never went out on any of Lacey's arranged dates.

It made Lacey so frustrated, she wanted to scream.

Finally, she made up her mind to kidnap Rachel if necessary. She put on her lip gloss, steeled herself, and—before she could change her mind—sashayed into the dorm room.

"Hi there," Rachel said. She was crouched on the bed, sketching with quick strokes in a notebook.

"Tonight," Lacey proclaimed, "you are coming with me, out to the movies, where we will meet up with two boys, whom you have never met before but who are, rest assured, _very_ cute. Okay? Okay."

"I have to study," Rachel said. "Maybe another time, okay, Lacey? I'll make it up to you."

"You always say that!" Lacey stamped her foot. "I am sick and tired of—"

She saw Rachel's face go slack a moment before she noticed the strange man walking up behind her.

"Hey," he said, smiling, and immediately her heart melted. He looked to be in his late teens, with sandy blond hair and a blinding smile. He was dressed casually, sleeveless T-shirt showing off the muscles in his arms. He was also wearing one of those rubber foam Statue of Liberty crowns, but she decided it looked good on him, because _anything _would have looked good on him.

Then he said, ". . . Rachel," and she knew who he was here for.

"Is something wrong?" Rachel jumped up. "At camp?"

"Uh, yeah, think so." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "What's up? Like your school. Lots of hot girls."

"Hi," wavered Lacey.

"Oh," said Rachel. "Lacey, Apollo. Apollo, Lacey."

"Hello, Lacey. Nice to meet you."

Lacey glanced back and forth. "Are you two . . . you know . . . together?"

"No," said Rachel.

"Anyway," said Apollo, "I wrote a poem for you. _There once was a drakon from Delphi, whose breath was so terribly . . . smelfee . . ._"

"You're never going to find a rhyme for that," Rachel said, shaking her head. "I looked all through the dictionary, and Googled it, and asked my Lit professor, and there is not one single word in the English language that rhymes with Delphi."

"So I made one up! I can do that!"

"'Smelfee?'"

"It's artistic license!"

"I think it's beautiful," breathed Lacey, wondering how hard she could swoon without hurting herself.

"Now, _is _there a drakon," asked Rachel, "or were you just making up a poem?"

"Oh, it's right outside now."

"What?" Rachel rushed for the window.

Peering over her shoulder, Lacey saw nothing but a large snake lying on the Frisbee fields outside. It being a Friday, everyone else had already left, and the dorm opposite their window lay dark and empty.

"Oh my gosh, a snake! It's huuuge!" screamed Lacey.

"I was thinking maybe we could keep it," Apollo remarked casually. "You know, put a collar on it, parade it around, send it off to eat Aphrodite's poodle. Can't you just see the look on her face? And we could build a totally decked-out kennel with chains and fire coming out of pits . . ."

"You're going to have to kill it," Rachel said. "How many people has it eaten already?"

"Um . . . two or three, last I looked." Apollo shrugged. "Might have been more since I left. You sure we can't keep it?"

"What would Artemis say?"

"Oh, probably something about 'endangering others,' blah blah blah, 'being so immature, blah blah blah . . . Okay, I'm gonna go kill it."

A moment later, they saw him striding out onto the field. The serpent hissed and slid towards him.

"Cover your eyes," Rachel said, lunging to clamp her hand over Lacey's eyes.

Lacey saw the flash through her closed eyelids _and _Rachel's hand, burning dull red even when seen through layers of flesh, silhouetting the delicate bones of Rachel's palm for an instant.

When she opened her eyes, the snake was gone, there was a bare sizzling hole of dirt out on the Frisbee field, and the dorm room opposite had collapsed in on itself, a gaping hole in one wall.

Apollo appeared behind them one last time. "Well, gotta go. See you, ladies."

He gave Lacey a lingering look and disappeared out the door.

Then she really did swoon.

When she woke up, the police were trying to figure out who on earth had blown up the dorm . . .


	6. Chapter 6: Nectar of the Gods

**Ever wonder what happens to those strawberries that Camp Half-Blood ships out?**

"I want Belgian waffles," said Karyn, straightening her blue-and-purple headband.

"Iwant Belgian waffles, _please_," said Taryn, adjusting her red-and-orange headband.

"With blueberries," said Karyn smugly, rubbing her nose.

"With strawberries, please," said Taryn, batting her eyelashes. And sticking her tongue out at Karyn, as soon as the waitress's back was turned.

Karyn crossed her eyes and drooled.

"Mommy!" Taryn yelled. "_Karyn's _making _faces _at me."

"Karyn, leave your twin sister alone!" Their mother sighed and got up. "Daddy and I are going to the buffet. We'll be _right back_."

But, as so often happens with adults, they were _not_ right back. They were _not_ back for almost half an hour.

Taryn kicked Karyn under the table.

Karyn seized the syrup bottle and aimed at her twin sister's new red overall dress.

Taryn screamed. "MOMMY-Y-Y!"

In a flash, their father was leaning over the back of the booth, gritting from behind closed teeth, "You kids behave yourselves. Do you want to _prove _to me that I can't take you to a restaurant?"

They shook their heads, wide-eyed. Their father nodded suspiciously and left.

Of _course _the grown-ups were having a conversation over by the buffet table. The couple from down the street had shown up at the restaurant this morning, and adults always wanted to _talk_.

The waitress returned to the booth, sliding the girls' waffles in front of them.

"Thank you, ma'am," Taryn said, smiling sweetly.

"Oh, right. Strawberries for you, because you're wearing red—and blueberries for the blue girl over here. Aren't you two so cute?"

The waitress left, and they were alone again. They immediately began to eat. Karyn tried to steal a strawberry from her sister's plate, but Taryn slammed her arm down in front of her.

Still chewing, Karyn glanced out the window and saw a boy chasing a little pink pig down the sidewalk.

Taryn followed her gaze. The boy had the piglet pinned down on the sidewalk. A girl ran up to them, carrying a jump rope.

Taryn's mouth fell open slowly, exposing half-chewed waffle and strawberry.

"Oh, ew!" Karyn shielded her face. "Taryn, you're so gross!"

Taryn swallowed heavily, and then blinked in confusion. "Did—did you see that?"

"Those big kids are tying a pig up with a jump rope." Karyn frowned. "It's weird, but not _that _weird." She reached out for the strawberries. Astonishingly, her twin didn't notice.

Still wide-eyed, Taryn took another mouthful of strawberry waffle. She immediately sat bolt upright.

"Mff! Mff!" She pointed wildly out the window.

"_Mff, mff_," Karyn mocked, delicately picking a strawberry off the top of her sister's waffle. "You're just tryin' to scare me, Taryn."

Taryn gulped down her food. "I am _not_. That big girl is carrying a big metal chain. And just a minute ago that pig was a big, huge, _bi-i-ig _pig. With enormous tooths."

The look on Taryn's face was complete honesty. Karyn began to doubt.

Taryn took another bite of strawberry and spoke with her mouth full. "Now it's big again! And, oh, oh boy, it's trying to bite the big kid's arm. It's got his whole arm in its mouth!"

"You're making that up," Karyn said doubtfully. "People don't chase _giant pigs _around _restaurants_."

Taryn's eyes grew even wider. "Look! Look!"

Karyn, disgusted, popped Taryn's strawberry into her mouth.

On its own it would have been sweet, but fresh off a waffle, dribbled with maple syrup, it was tangy and sour. The warm juice filled her mouth, but she didn't swallow just yet.

Immediately everything outside the window changed. Instead of a piglet, a huge, hairy boar rushed about. The boy and girl were desperately trying to wind a huge chain around it and lock it fast. The boy managed to loop the chain—a hefty iron thing—around a bicycle rack, but the rack was immediately yanked out of the ground, bicycles and all. The girl screamed and ran for cover.

Girls in silver ponchos ran through the street, shooting at the boar with huge bows. Not a single shaft struck the boy or girl. Every arrow hit home. And yet the boar, bristling with arrows, continued to careen around as if its wounds didn't exist.

Karyn swallowed the strawberry. It seemed to stick in her throat. Immediately, there were only big kids running around outside. No silver ponchos. Rotten apples, not arrows. A squealing piglet, not a giant boar, scampered around. The boy was waving a Nerf sword around as if his life depended on it.

As one, the twins looked down at Taryn's plate. There was one lone strawberry slice there.

"It's the strawberries," Karyn whispered. "Magic fruit. Like in a fairy story or something."

Taryn reached over and grabbed a handful of Karyn's blueberries, squashing them into her mouth. Purple juice ran down her chin. Karyn followed her example.

A rotten apple struck the piglet. It turned and charged at a group of girls in plastic ponchos. They scattered. A policeman approached, blowing a whistle.

"The blueberries don't do anything."

"There's only one strawberry left," Taryn said anxiously.

"I want it."

"No, it's my waffle!"

"But you got more than I did!"

The piglet squealed outside, piercingly.

The twins each scrabbled through the waffle, tearing it apart, splashing syrup everywhere. Somehow they each got part of the last strawberry, ripping it into two pulpy halves.

Karyn held her piece in her mouth, afraid to swallow.

The chains barely held back the straining, ravening boar. The girls pulled back their arrows and let fly. The boy struck with his shining sword. The great animal slumped, and began to dissolve into sand, drifting away across the pavement.

The policeman stopped, confused.

"What have you two been doing?" Mommy said, coming back to the table. "There's syrup everywhere!"

The girls looked at each other, stricken.

Karyn swallowed, and the last of the strawberry was gone. Outside, the big kids slunk away, toting Nerf swords and bags of rotten fruit.

The tang lingered in her mouth. It tasted like summer.

**That was that giant boar thing, the Erymanthian Boar or something like that, versus Percy Jackson and the Hunters of Artemis.**

**Please comment to leave ideas for later stories.**


	7. Chapter 7: Newsworthy

No one is watching the TV. It broadcasts empty news to an empty room.

"And in other news, there appears to be a troop of Girl Scouts hunting down a feral peacock in the fields just outside town. Let's go to Bob, live at—"

"Hiya, Cathy. We're flying over the countryside and we're getting some _amazing _footage. There are approximately a dozen girls down there, running after a peacock with—are those sticks? They are chasing a peacock with sticks."

On the screen, girls in silver ponchos run after something that doesn't look quite like a peacock. It seems too large, and too strangely colored. It turns and screams at them. A few of the smaller girls are blasted off their feet by a shockwave.

"Are you sure . . . are you sure that's a peacock, Bob?"

"It looks like a peacock."

"Well, let's just be glad it's being dealt with. In the meantime—"

"No, wait, Cathy! Looks like the girls are trying to ambush it. They're circling around . . . driving it towards a ditch . . . Oh, some of them are hiding out on a rock overhead. Are we getting this? Is the camera getting this?"

"Yes, Bob, but—"

"Oh, they better be getting some serious merit badges for this."

"Bob, we're out of time."

"There they go with the sticks!"

"Bob!"

"Annnd it's all over, folks. The peacock is down. Repeat, the peacock is down. They're still throwing sticks at it though. Are we getting this? The camera's still on, right? Don't cut us off yet, Cathy. And—where's the peacock? Anyone see it? Okay, peacock's gone. The girls are—okay, they're picking up their sticks—I think they realize they're on TV, see them pointing? Hi kids, smile. You camera people better be getting this . . ."

"Bob, we're cutting you off now."

"Listen, lady, you _better _not cut me off! Not here, not now, not ever! This is TV _gold_. Okay, girls are looking, girls are pointing, hi kids, wave for the camera—caw—ca-KAW—ca-KAW—"

Feathers fly past. The screen goes black and then fills with static. Then the anchorwoman flashes back on, looking confused but smug.

"And now let's move on to our commercial break."

Empty news. Empty room.

**This has been the Hunters of Artemis against a Hellhound.**

**I have enjoyed writing this story, but at this point I have material for exactly two more chapters. So if **_**anyone**_** has **_**any**_** ideas for new chapters, I'd love to hear them.**


	8. Chapter 8: Good Morning, New York City

**The idea for this came from somebody615 and The Falling Mirror. Thank you!**

Have you ever had that feeling where you wake up—too sleepy to open your eyes yet—and begin to have a strange, vague feeling that you're not where you're supposed to be?

"Travis. Seriously. Put that _back_!"

Continuing with that idea—have you ever had the feeling that instead of being in bed, where you should be . . . you're lying on the pavement with your head in the gutter and your feet in the air?

"_Travis_! We're _supposed _to be getting back on the _bus_—what are you doing?"

"Oh, relax!"

"Are you taking that guy's _bike_?"

And have you ever had the feeling that two kids are fighting over your bike, as you lie there?

Yeah. Right now, Rudy Hantzeas had that feeling.

He sat up, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. "Whuzz going on?"

There were two teenagers standing in front of him. The first—a boy in armor, with a bandage around his head and bursting-full shopping bags hanging from his arms—had a death-grip on the bike's handlebars. The second, a girl wearing a dented helmet, was trying to pull the bike away from him by the back wheel.

"Nothing," the boy said quickly.

Rudy stood up, feeling wobbly, and hung onto his bike by the seat. The teenagers were taller and thinner than he was. "Th-that's my bike."

"I know," the teenaged boy said.

Glancing around, Rudy saw people sleeping on the ground and in their cars. People in business suits were still holding their phones to their ears as they snuggled closer to the curb. Homeless people were curled up in piles of blankets. A hot-dog vendor sat up, bleary-eyed, on top of his cart.

It looked like everyone in the city was asleep—and now, they were just beginning to wake up.

"What's going on?" asked Rudy, getting scared.

"Nothing!" the teenaged boy said cheerfully. "Now, why don't you both let go of the bike?"

"Why do you even want it?" protested the girl in the helmet.

"It's a cool bike."

"It's _my _bike," Rudy snapped.

"Is there a problem?" another kid in armor called from the sidewalk in front of the Empire State Building. She was holding an icepack to her head and helping along a short little man in shag-carpet pants.

"No!" yelled the boy.

"Yes!" screamed the girl.

The bike picked that moment to tip over. It took the boy and girl with it and left Rudy standing, startled, in the middle of the street, looking down at them.

People everywhere were starting to stand up. One man staggered to his feet, walked into a wall, and passed out again.

"No," moaned the teenaged boy as Rudy picked up his bike and started to roll it away. He started to get up and follow.

The girl whipped off her helmet and bashed him over with the head with it.

Rudy cruised down the street, staring back at them over his shoulder and wondering how, exactly, he had ended up asleep on the street in the first place.

He was three blocks away before he realized that his shoes had been stolen.

**As always, reviews are welcome.**


	9. Chapter 9: How Rachel Sees the World

"Shark! Shark!"

The cry strikes terror into even the bravest heart.

People screamed and fled as the killer struck again and again.

However, it seemed like a bit of a non sequitur to Rachel Elizabeth Dare that, in the middle of a landlocked shopping mall, someone would accuse a shark of causing this pandemonium. They were miles from any body of water, at least any body of water larger than the lobby's tacky stone fountain full of pennies.

But someone cried shark, and everyone else seemed perfectly willing to go along with it.

Rachel sat on the edge of the stone fountain and waited. People fled out of the secondhand clothing outlet, through the lobby, and out of the revolving doors.

Here came the next wave of people:

"Worms! Giant worms!"

Rachel took out her favorite Sharpie and tapped it against her lower lip thoughtfully. Lacking any paper, she pulled her headband out of her hair and began to doodle a design on it. Greek letters.

The stragglers were passing now. "She's got a sandbox! Somebody stop her!"

"Aaagghhh!"

The revolving doors spun to a halt as the last shoppers disappeared into the parking lot.

A dracaena, hissing and spitting out blood, limped through the doors of the secondhand clothing outlet and collapsed in a cloud of sand.

Rachel stood up on the edge of the fountain, putting her redecorated headband back on. She placed her hands and her hips and waited, as a familiar figure emerged from the all-encompassing clouds of sand.

Annabeth Chase held her sandy knife at the ready and pushed strands of blond hair out of her eyes.

"You should have heard what people were yelling," Rachel said cheerfully, as soon as she saw her friend. "Did you get the scarf you wanted?"

**Thank you for reading. Now move your mouse to the button that says "Review" and click on it. Then type in any feedback you may have, and submit. Thank you.**


	10. Chapter 10: All's Fair in Love and War

Valentine's Day. Flowers in the windows, little boys in the shrubs.

"Hey!" Here comes the waiter, furious. He takes his work seriously. He hopes to be the next Employee of the Month. And he will tolerate no little boys crashing through the potted plants in the lobby.

"Hey! You kids get out of here!"

Four chubby figures in camouflage pajamas flash past him. One of them swings his plastic rifle up to his shoulder and squeezes off a volley of Nerf darts.

Suction cups splatter the air. One of them hits the waiter in the knee of his clean slacks.

He herds the boys out the door, and keeps yelling at them even after the doors close. They smirk at him from beneath their plastic army helmets, and dart away.

He rubs his knee where the Nerf dart hit him. He picks up more darts from the ground, muttering to himself. Looking up, his glance falls on a chair at one of the tables.

No. Not _a _chair.

_The _chair.

His whole being is suffused with light, with love for this beautiful chair. How could he have walked past this chair so many times while taking orders, and never noticed it?

He spends the next half an hour lovingly brushing every last crumb off the chair. He sets flowers before it. He murmurs soft words of love to it—very quietly, not wanting his manager to notice that he's not on the job as usual.

A waitress shoots him a startled glance as she escorts a young couple—a teenaged boy and girl—to the table. She offers them menus and leaves hurriedly.

The waiter stands up and glares at the boy and girl, making sure they pose no threat to The Chair. They stare back at him, wide-eyed. The girl, blond and tan, is wearing a dark green silk dress. The boy's jacket has blue splotches on one shoulder.

"Um, why are you talking to a chair?" the boy asks.

"It is not _a _chair," the waiter informs him. "It is _The_ Chair."

He enters into a lengthy monologue on the wonder and glory of the Chair—its feathery-soft seat cushion, the alluring curve of the armrests. The way the legs and back slope.

The boy stares at the waiter as if expecting him to leap onto the table and start screaming and beating his chest.

The girl glances at her menu, then at her watch.

"Do you know what you're ordering?" she asks the boy, politely.

He pulls out a pen and fiddles with it.

"Percy, put it back." She glances at the menu again. "The filet mignon looks good."

He clears his throat and holds his menu like a shield. "Uh . . . I dunno." He shoots the waiter a nervous glance.

Letting out an exasperated, huffing breath, the girl gets up and stalks out. She returns momentarily, dragging a little boy in camouflage pajamas by the arm. She points him towards the lovestruck waiter.

"Explain," she says firmly. You get the idea that she is used to dealing with younger kids.

The boy, a chubby little thing with leaves stuck to his helmet, chews nervously on a fingernail. "Um . . . he was mean? And he incurred the wrath of the gods?"

"What are you doing back in here?" snaps the waiter. "And don't you—_dare_—touch The Chair."

The little boy starts to snicker. Realization starts to dawn on the face of the boy with the pen, the boy the girl called Percy.

"Stop it now," the girl says.

"I can't," says the little boy.

"Pothos . . ." Apparently this is the little boy's name.

"I can't. Breach of security. The Captain will have my head."

"I'll be right back," says the girl, leading Pothos out.

She returns in a moment, leading Pothos and another little boy. This one is significantly chubbier, and smugger-looking. There are medals on his camouflage pajamas.

"All right, _Captain_," the girl says to him, as she points towards the waiter. "Your 'hostile force' and 'active threat' here is scaring people. Will you please fix . . . whatever you did to him?"

(The waiter is shampooing the seat cushion of the chair.)

"I don't want any filet mignon," says Percy, from behind the menu.

The Captain looks from the girl to the waiter and back. "He threw us out of the building. Valentine's Day is _my _domain. I'm the god of love, remember?"

"So . . ." begins the girl.

"And love hurts," concludes the Captain, with satisfaction.

Pothos picks up his rifle. "Should I fire off the salute now, Captain?"

"My beautiful Chair," murmurs the waiter, stroking the armrests.

Percy leans over the Captain. Across the restaurant, glasses of water tip over or explode.

"_Get rid of him now_," Percy says between gritted teeth. "_I can't take this_."

The Captain sighs. "You'll owe me."

"DO IT!"

_Three minutes later…_

Valentine's Day. Amorous couples bonding over filet mignon. Little boys being chased out of the restaurant, firing off volleys in every direction.

The waiter is bright red from his collar to the tips of his ears, as he chases the two boys out. Grinning, they keep firing Nerf darts, striking vases of flowers and hapless restaurant customers.

"I think I just want a hamburger," the boy, Percy, tells his companion. The Chair lies on its side not far away.

She glances at her menu. "You know, I don't think they have those."

Love is in the air.

**And with that I am fresh out of story ideas, and begging for reviews.**


	11. Chapter 11: I'm Lovin' It

**This story is at the suggestion of ****xXAwesomeSauceXx****: Nico orders from McDonald's during **_**Battle of the Labyrinth.**_

"So, Zach, how's night school? My goodness, you look tired."

_Just keep taking orders_, Zach thought to himself. He refused to look at the other cashier—Martha, Marshmallow, something like that.

"You're never going to get a girlfriend if you don't get some sleep and take care of your appearance . . ."

_Sometimes it's just not worth it._

"May I take your order?" he asked, staring blearily out across the counter. Then he looked down. His next customer was about a foot below his view.

A grim-faced little boy, maybe twelve years old at most, glared up at him. His hair stuck up in dirty spikes and there was dirt smeared over his face, as if he'd been digging all day. He looked like he'd been sleeping on the streets.

Zach felt like _he'd _been sleeping on the streets. He was beginning to reconsider night school . . . a few weeks, and already he felt like the walking dead.

Martha kept shooting the little boy worried glances, like she was afraid that either he was going to whip out a gun and rob the place, or Social Services were about to descend upon everyone . . .

"Four Happy Meals," said the little boy, eyes narrowed.

Zach was in the midst of getting the Happy Meals together when he heard Martha-Marshmallow talking to the boy in a sickly-sweet, nosy voice:

"Are your parents here, sweetie?"

Zach literally felt the little boy's burning gaze leave the back of his sweater and move towards Marshmallow Woman.

She said, "Urk!"

Zach turned around and slid the Happy Meals onto the counter one by one. The little boy laid a handful of money on the counter and Zach gave him back his change.

"Have a nice day," Zach muttered. He glanced over at Marthamallow, who was taking orders at warp speed and refusing to look over towards the little boy.

Without answering, the boy turned and strode out of the building. The door dinged shut behind him.

Zach wasn't sure what made him look out the window after the little boy, but . . .

The little boy walked out into the parking lot. He never paused as the ground opened up beneath him, and he walked straight down into it. The pavement closed over his head.

Zach's mouth dropped open.

But Martha was silent for the rest of the day. Zach decided that the kid with the Happy Meals had a gift.

**Thank you ****xXAwesomeSauceXx****. Everyone else: review!**

**Okay, I've put this off for a long time.**

**I cannot continue to work on this story. I have other things I need to attend to (getting a job, getting a real, non-fanfic story published) and I have run out of ideas. I might write more chapters sometime in the future, but if I do, it won't be in the **_**near**_** future.**

**I'd like to thank everyone for reading this story. I hope you enjoyed it.**


End file.
